


A Solo Path

by Guardian_of_Hope



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Mild Angst, alternate Han background, borrows from Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_of_Hope/pseuds/Guardian_of_Hope
Summary: From a starving street kid to Rebel Hero, a few quick glimpse into the story of Han Solo.  From a certain point of view.





	A Solo Path

At first, watching it on the security holos, Shrike couldn’t see how the kid could have done it.  There was no way to open the windows from the outside, no exterior access to the room that they used to store certain surplus military supplies, but still, this scruffy, filthy child had gotten in.  He’d been found on camera after he’d already opened a box of the MREs and eaten two of them.  When security had caught up, the kid had been on his way out with a pack loaded with more MREs.

Finally, Shrike had to admit, if only to himself, that there was literally only one way into that room from the outside.  He looked at his lieutenant, and saw in Teninga’s eyes the same realization.

“Take care of it,” Shrike ordered, “I’ll deal with the boy.”

“Yes sir,” Teninga replied.

Shrike opened the door into the holding room where the boy waited, ignoring the cries of surprise and blaster fire behind him.

“You are very stupid,” Shrike said.

“You don’t know me,” the boy snapped in reply.

Shrike eyed him for a moment, then pulled out the only thing of worth the boy had carried, a small, green tinted crystal.

“That’s mine,” The boy said, lunging forward.

Shrike held it up, away from the boy, “Did you know these are illegal now?”

“Does it look like I care?”  The boy snarled.

The crystal shifted in Shrike’s hand for a moment before it slipped between his fingers and flew into the boy’s hands.

“I thought as much,” Shrike said softly.  “Kid, you’re in a lot of trouble.”

“Really?  You mean this isn’t,” The boy stopped, pain twisting his features as he caught himself.

“You know not to talk about it,” Shrike said as he knelt, bringing himself to the boy’s level.

“Talking won’t bring them back,” the boy said stubbornly.  “I’m on my own now.”

“You don’t have to be,” Shrike offered.

“Attachment is forbidden,” the boy said, a nearly automatic response that suggested a rote phrase he’d learned all his life.

“They’re dead.  You’re alive,” Shrike said, “but you’ll die too if you try to be them.  You have to be something new.”

The boy stared at him, blue eyes narrow with suspicion.  Shrike adjusted his impression of the boy’s age, and wondered what he’d been learning before, and what came from him being on the street now.

“My name is Garris Shrike, I’m an exporter of select goods.”

“You’re a smuggler,” the boy said.

“Officially, no,” Shrike said with a predatory grin.  “It’s part of the deal, we look legitimate, and the Empire never looks at us.”  He hesitated, “I could teach you, if you wanted.  You’re never going to make it on the streets, not if you’re desperate enough to break in the way you do.”

“You want,” the boy began, then clenched his fists for a moment.  “I’ll do it.”

“What’s you’re name, kid?”  Shrike asked.

The boy opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.  “Call me Solo.  Last of my kind and all that.  Han Solo.”

“Han Solo,” Shrike said and offered his hand, “I’ve been looking for an heir to train.”

\-----…….-----…….-----…….-----…....-----…….-----

“Six years.”

Han turned and nodded, “Teninga.”

“Six years you’ve been a part of this crew,” Teninga said.  “Thought you’d go when we lost Shrike, but you’re still here.”

“Didn’t see a point,” Han said, leaning on the roof’s railing and staring out at the city.  “Without a ship, I’m back where I was six years ago.”

“Yeah,” Teninga said, “we need to talk about that.”

“I’m listening,” Han replied as he studied the traffic below them.

“Strike,” Teninga began.

Lights came on behind them and Han spun.

“CorSec!”  Jeri shouted before vanishing down one of the repel lines they’d set up.

“Go,” Teninga ordered Han.

Han grabbed the nearest repelling line as he tumbled over the edge of the roof.  Grateful for the gloves he wore as he slid, Han didn’t look back.  He already knew there was trouble that way.  Han hit the dirt and bolted, hearing more shouting above him.  He crossed the street and darted down an alleyway, his primary escape route firmly in mind.

As Han swung around a corner, knowing that one more turn would get him to a sewer opening that would let him get out of sight, he crashed into someone and they fell to the ground.

Han scrambled back and looked up, then froze, stunned.

Six years since he’d seen the man in front of him, but there was enough there that Han could recognize him.  From the look on the man’s face, he recognized something about Han, but not his face.

“A thief?”  The man managed.

Han snorted, “Like you’re any better.  What was I supposed to do?  Starve?”

“The Code,” the man said as he stood up.

“Doesn’t exist anymore,” Han said.  “I make my own way, by my own rules.”  He stood up, and brushed his hands off.

“Go,” the man said.

“Go?”  Han repeated.

“Go,” the man said, “and don’t let your name cross my desk.  I won’t be so lenient next time.”

Strike’s lesson number four, don’t waste opportunity.

Han walked around the man and continued on his way to the sewer entrance.

“Horn, did you see him?”

Han hesitated, listening quietly.

“This is Horn, and no, I must have missed him.  He’s probably gone to ground by now.”

“The Lieutenant wants you to keep checking, Hal.”

“Will do,” Horn said.

Han shook his head and ducked into the sewer.  Some people just didn’t make any sense.

Two weeks later, Han was handed a datapad.

“Valin Horn,” Jeri said, “up and coming in CorSec.  Son of Rostek Horn and has a reputation for being just as good.”

Han nodded, considering.  The CorSec raid, the last in a line of run ins, had left Han as the senior most member of Strike’s remaining crew.

“Solo,” Jeri said.  “People are talking about leaving.  They think we’re cursed.”

Han bit his lip and nodded, “Maybe we should.  You and I both know that they won’t follow me.  I’m younger than all of them.”

“What will you do?”  Jeri asked.

“I need to leave Corellia,” Han said, unable to believe the words were coming out of his mouth.  “Horn got a good look at my face, it won’t be long before he has my name.”

“I must stay,” Jeri said softly.

“I know,” Han said.  He tilted his head slightly, “I’ll be seeing you, though.  Take care of yourself Jeri.”

“You too, Han,” Jeri said.

Han didn’t have a lot to take with him.  Mostly it was credits, and a green tinted crystal that he’d never quite been able to throw away.

\-----…….-----…….-----…….-----…....-----…….-----

The decision to vanish by joining the Imperial Academy was easy.  The decision to hide the green crystal was not.  In the end, Han paid for the crystal, among other odds and ends, to be locked away securely until he came back for it.  The key he took with him to Carida, carried in his boot, passed between shoes all through officer training and his first posting.  Those boots, tailored to Imperial standards, were the only thing he took with him when he was discharged, and the one thing he hung onto as he struggled to make a life for himself and the Wookie who refused to leave him.

Winning the Falcon from Lando Calrissian was the closest he’d ever come to buying a home in his mind, although Han would never say it out loud.  He’d learned a long time ago that is was very, very easy to lose a home.

Then one night, Han dreamed of something he’d long since forced himself to forget; of peaceful halls, friendly faces, and gentle hands.  Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised when a day later, Chewbacca brought him two passengers looking for a ride to Alderaan, and bringing with them a reminder of something he’d spent two decades trying to forget.

The crystal isn’t in a lockbox anymore.  After a decade of struggling with it’s existence, he found a perfect use for it.  Watching Leia swing a green blade against the remotes with all of her focus settled something in Han’s sole.  He’d taken a different path, once, but he couldn’t deny what it had really given him.

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from a number of Tumblr posts about Force Sensitive Han Solo. Since my preferred way of sleeping is with Star Wars Rebels playing in the background, I realized that we had a canon example of a kid surviving the Purge. In an alcohol induced haze of questionable decision making, I decided I needed to see what those two things would look like mashed up together.
> 
> In short: It seems like a good idea because alcohol.


End file.
